


The Stars Their Fireworks Anemones

by pantsoffdanceoff



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-23 09:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12503940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantsoffdanceoff/pseuds/pantsoffdanceoff
Summary: There are ghosts in her gasoline.





	The Stars Their Fireworks Anemones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosencrantz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosencrantz/gifts).



Cold gasoline fills up Car's fuel tank. The hands feel unfamiliar, forgetting to jiggle her fuel cap just right before removing the nozzle. It sticks a little. The key turns in her ignition.

Who will be her friend today? As always, the plankton disappear in a sparkle of warmth, brief bursts of life. Something else, though, unfurls...and unfurls. And unfurls.

 _What strange little fiddleheads_ , says something three stories tall. Car suddenly has a vision from the giant's point of view--the single-story orange brick buildings stop looking charming and start looking withered and dry. Her floor mat is jammed under the driver's seat, her accelerator feels stiff. Everything is the wrong shape. Even the asphalt feels wrong under her tires.

A set of rollers jerk her tires out from under her, further disorienting her before a familiar spray hits her fenders.

 _Oh, you'll like this_ , she tells the giant fern.

"Hey, I just picked up the car," says a human voice. Female, young, with fingers that like to tap on her steering wheel. "Mmhmm, yup, got the--yup."

The caked dirt starts sluicing off, and she blinks open her headlights for maybe the first time in years.

"They just kept her in a shed," continues her driver, "No tarp or anything, can you believe?"

Her undercarriage sighs as it's massaged. Or maybe it's the fern. In the dark and the steam, the fern relaxes, unfolding even more of their elegant fronds.

"No, Dad, I'm not driv--I'm at the carwash!" The drumming gets heavier. Like drumbeats, like a tropical rain. Fern paints a picture of lush, green rainforests, filled with other towering ferns and giant dragonflies to match.

Multicolored foam rains down.

"Yeah, we're all moved in," says Driver. "Of course Jillian's going to be there. I told you--"

It sluices away, leaving behind a thin lacquer seal. Her coat's eventually going to need replacing, but for now it holds everything together.

Fern nods their fronds, but Car can tell their attention is elsewhere. Already they're starting to fade, evaporating with the last of the burning gas.

"Yeah, love you too," says Driver, waspishly. "Have fun at the cottage."

The wind feels more intense on her clean grill, and the sun sparkles off her coat. Driver takes her down street after street, where the orange bricks fade and are replaced by white sidings and creeping hedges.

They pull up to a driveway with two houses, one for Car and a bigger one for Driver.

"Oh, come on," says Driver.

 _I'm sure I don't need that much room_ , says Car, but Driver is already slamming the door, wheeling the ten-speed bike to a corner before easing Car inside.

 _Hello,_ she says, _I hope I'm not taking up too much of your space. Maybe I can talk to my driver--you'll like her when you get to know her._ Her engine pings as it cools down. _Anyway, what's your driver like?_

The bike gives no answer.

 _Well, I'm sure it's been a long day,_ says Car after a minute, _I'll let you rest._

* * *

Driver's books sit off kilter, making Car lean more to the right every time they slide across her back seats.

"Nothing," says Driver, shoulders hunched, "Nothing's wrong."

Claws scrabble across Car's roof, as the little black and white bird struggles to stay on.

 _Will you quit that?_ snaps Car. _You can't even feel the rain._

"Uh huh," says the thing jammed into her cigarette lighter. Sometimes it plays music like the radio, which is when she likes it best. Other times, like now, it talks in a multitude of voices. "So why am I passing notes like it's second-period English? I feel like I'm in a Taylor Swift song."

The bird flaps his stubby little wings again. _Wet wings ain't cool, yo_ , he says petulantly.

"Ugh, we're just busy," says Driver. She grinds the heel of her palm against her eye. "Class and work. You know."

A chickadee flits by, fluffed up with annoyance. Abruptly, Car feels bad that she banished her guest to the roof. _Well, I guess you can come insi--_

Driver slams on the brakes. Her felt pads catch and lock on wheels too waterlogged to grip onto the slippery road, sending them skidding across the white lines of the crosswalk.

 _Keep your seat covers, crazy lady,_ squawks the bird, launching himself in a flurry of limbs off her roof, _I'm outta here._

"You still there?" says the Thing, as Car watches Bird paddle as fast as he can through the river that was once 3rd St., never looking back.

Driver rubs a shaky hand across her face. "Yeah," she croaks, and adds under her breath, "Under ten thousand miles my ass."

The Thing sounds skeptical. "Well, stay safe out there." There's a brief jangle.

Driver takes a deep breath, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "Well," she says to Car, "Since today can't get any worse..."

The Thing starts ringing again. The light stays red. Reaching for something happier, Car burns through a season's worth of blowing Zamia pollen. Ten thousand miles on the wind--she soars with them, carried aloft by the hope of finding love. She passes along the warmth through her heating vents.

"You've reached the voice mailbox of," says the Thing, "Jillian Neubert."

Car pushes off as the light turns green.

"Hey, babe. You free tonight?" says Driver, sounding cheered as well, "You, me, Indian, Netflix, catch up on, uh--" She soldiers on. "You know, just catch up."

The garage feels much bigger without the bike. It rains the whole night too.

* * *

Car's doors close and lock. Driver turns up the heat, Jillian turns it down. Driver stops drumming on the steering wheel to turn on the radio, a hundred voices blurring into each other as she fiddles with the dial.

 _Why's the Sun backwards?_ says a voice like an airhorn. A giant scaly head tilts bird-like, the razor-sharp beak missing Car by millimeters. _And where is everyone? We're going to be late._

Car says, _Going so soon? But we've only just met._

Scales turns to stare one unblinking eye at Car. (Today's high is forty-eight degrees, says the radio) The yellow eyeball is as big as Driver's head. _Going? Where was I going?_

Jillian says, "Oh, turn it off."

"Geez, just wanted the weather back home," says Driver, but turns it off anyway.

 _Oh, home,_ says Scales, and bobs her head like there had never been confusion at all. _Where there's singing and dancing, and boys in their mating plumage. Of course._

Car winds carefully down the hilly pass, past signs that say _Grandma's Cider, Like YOU Remember It!_ and _Old Country Bed & Breakfast, Exit 5_.

She hums in agreement, listening to Driver say things like, "Man, your mom's casseroles," and "Your parents still fish on the weekends?" and "So my dad turned the basement into a wine cellar. Turns out that's what old folks talk about at their cottages. Wine. Funny, right?"

Jillian says, "Mmhmm", "Yeah, I guess," and "Take the right here."

"Uh, sure," says Driver, and flicks on Car's turn signal.

The parking lot where they leave Car is filled with rows of bikes, and a stuffed turkey with mismatched eyes. They all stare at her with unwavering eyes, silently judging her.

Car spends a lot of time studiously looking the other way.

Fallen leaves blow across the gravel, red and orange like the glowing faces of Scales's eligible bachelors. If she closes her eyes, she can see them tumble through the valley in their mating dance, their cone-shaped noses looking aerodynamic in flight.

The doorbell jingles. "Man," says Driver, stretching in satisfaction, "Who knew there were so many weird veggies around here?"

Jillian says, "Companion planting is the future you know. The planet's resources aren't forever."

"A tasty future, for sure." Driver unlocks Car's doors. "Hey, I gotta stop at a gas station."

"Again?" says Jillian. Cold air blows through Car's open doors. "I told you the fuel efficiency of these dinosaurs is shit."

A cold front is building on the horizon, slate blue clouds pressing down on the rolling hills. Car resolutely climbs the steep incline, passing an eighteen-wheeler on the right, trailed by four impatient sedans. She hisses as a pebble lodges in her bad wheel.

"Look, it's for fuel efficiency as much as anything," Driver is saying, "Tire pressure--"

"Oh, well, if it's for fuel efficiency," says Jillian.

Driver says, "What do you want me to say?"

Jillian looks out the window. "Nothing."

Driver throws up her hands.

Scales says, delicately. _You know, if you'd like, I could go ahead._ She flaps her wings, flattening bushes. _It's just that all the pretty ones might be taken already_.

The gas station's lighted sign emerges from the trees.

"Hey, you got--?" says Driver. Jillian never looks away from the passenger-side window. "Never mind."

Driver and a bag of loose change exit. Car can feel all the other cars politely pointing their sensors elsewhere. Her engine pings as it cool, her tires filling with air. Moisture beads on her glass. Maybe the storm will roll in tonight, she thinks. She hopes there will be a roof over her head.

Driver checks all four tires again.

Jillian is asleep by the time Driver gets back in her seat, blowing on her cupped hands--or at least keeping her eyes closed.

 _Still there, hun?_ says Car.

Her fuel tank echoes with whispers of eels and clams, and a cloud of little seed shrimps. But none of them are overgrown needle-nosed pliers with wings, itching to get home.

Figures. Should have seen that coming.

* * *

There's a giant turtle sunning herself on the moving van idling in the driveway, about the size and shape of a VW Beetle.

Car clears her throat. _Nice weather we're having, isn't it?_

Julian shoulders her way out of the big house, cardboard boxes stacked in her arms. Car frowns. Maybe neither of them speak V-6. Or they're just shy.

 _My driver just added antifreeze the other day,_ she continues, in the same cheery voice. _Seems like there aren't going to be many more warm days. You excited for winter?_

The turtle's flipper is as big as Jillian, who passes right through it. _Hatchling, after you've been through a winter you've been through them all. Shores freeze, shores melt. Sometimes a new star appears when we rise from the deep. That's all there to it._

She slowly pivots to the side to better catch the sun's rays.

The van groans as Jillian jumps off the back, heading back into the house for even more boxes. _Why always on me do doing people this insist to?_

 _Beg pardon?_ says Car.

The van grumbles, _Humans cars but driving run do from all problems the_.

 _Every animal is driven by migration_ , chides Turtle. _There's no reason to hold that against us._ The van groans as Jillian loads more boxes into her, settling into the asphalt under the weight. Her tail pipe puffs steadily. _This enough not town one's gas not to migrating skip._

 _Every hatchling thinks their first winter will be the worst,_ says Turtle. _That they'll go to sleep at the bottom of the ocean and never wake again._

 _But then they learn spring is around the corner?_ says Car. Jillian checks her phone and the sidewalk, fiddling with her brass house key.

 _But then they learn there are worse winters,_ says Turtle. _Late springs and sickly schools of food and squids that bite back._

 _That doesn't sound encouraging,_ says Car.

Jillian finally slides the key under the welcome mat. She climbs into the driver's seat of the van. Car has some idea of the route she'll take, right on Fountain, and then another right once they reach the river, through campus and out of Driver's life. The turn signal reflects orange off the peeling, white siding.

Turtle says, as they roll down the driveway, _How will you ever know of a good spring if you never make the plunge?_

It'll be hours yet before Driver returns, that dreaded bus pass clenched in her hand. The occasional car whooshes by in the distance. Car sighs.

At least the bike's gone.

* * *

There's frost on the ground, but Car couldn't feel warmer as Driver tops her off with new oil. Dad groans as he slides from underneath her, a drain pan of her old engine oil sloshing in his hands. He thumps her side.

"Let's warm her up," he says.

 _Feels good, doesn't it?_ says Dad's F-150.

Car freezes in the middle of twisting her crankshaft through the new, silky oil. A column of teeming lanternfish burst into life around her, sparkling with bioluminescent blue. Car stammers, _Give a girl some privacy!_

The F-150 does, but Driver doesn't. She's saying, "Listen to her. You hear that, right?" There's a crinkle between her brows that wasn't' there last semester. "You think it's her spark plugs?"

Dad groans, sending the fish scattering in flashes of silver and blue. "Are you kidding? Do you know how hard spark plugs are to change? They're fine."

"Yeah, but what if they're not?" says Driver, all but crossing her arms.

Dad sighs. "Here, shut her down. Lemme show you something."

Car holds still as best as she can, but it's undeniably odd to have someone else's hands all tangled up in your hoses and pipes, no matter how open you keep your mind. Dad says, hidden somewhere under her hood, "See that? Give it a twist."

A wrench pokes tentatively at one of her spark plugs.

The F-150 and the lawn mower look like they're having an entire conversation with their sensors. Car trains her own on the far wall, where Dad has arranged all the wrenches by socket size--or wait, no, is that handle length?

Driver grunts, and the wrench twists--slips.

Dad says, "You sure it's not the battery?"

"That's what I thought too, but I checked and the voltage's fine," says Driver. Thankfully (thankfully!) the wrench loosens, and Car stops clenching her crankshaft.

Only to yelp in surprise when two sets of lanternfish teeth clamp down on her battery terminals. "See, they're--huh." Driver fiddles with the clamps. "They were topped off last week."

There's the sound of Dad clapping Driver on the shoulder. "See, what'd I tell ya. We'd have to rearrange practically everything to find out ain't no problem with your spark plugs, kiddo. Never was."

 _He's got a good touch_ , says Car.

 _That he sure does,_ says the F-150, backed up by the lawnmower.

"You remember where Pete's is, right?" says Dad, as the school of lanternfish fill up the garage again. "He'll still be open."

"Yeah, and so will Home Depot," says Driver. The fish crowd around her turn signal, synchronizing their flashing blue lights to her own. Night has fallen early on the equinox, and the constellation of fish mirrors the ones in the sky. "You sure we're not driving across town _for a car battery_ because Linda's in the neighborhood?"

"What's Linda got to do with anything?" he asks gruffly.

"Who said it has to do with anything?" says Driver. "Maybe I just want to ask her opinion on wine. You know, like the one we had last night."

Dad grouses, "You know, I miss when I could still ground ya."

Driver's laugh is as silvery as the fish.

* * *

Breathe in, breathe out.

Her nonexistent lungs expand in time with his, her equally nonexistent heartbeat slows to match his, deep and sonorous. In counterbeat, Driver's fingers tap faster on the steering wheel. She chews on a fingernail. Under her breath, Driver's muttering, _265, 267, 269--_

Car's brake pads pinch, making her jerk. The passenger door flies open.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry about my friend," says the warm weight that settles into her passenger side. Car squeaks in surprise. "We can just sit there for fifteen mi--"

Driver squeaks too. "You can't possibly be Casey." Her face is as red as Car's 81C flame-red finish.

"Can't I?" says possibly-Casey, just as Driver blurts, "Geez, where are my manners? Here, you must be freezing." and turns up the heat.

Driver's foot squeezes her gas pedal just as Car sucks pure, fresh air through the new air filters in her intake valve. She practically purrs. They're a pod of two, he and she, oxygenating their veins in preparation for the big plunge.

Casey says, "So let me guess, last minute phone call about a friend who got stood up on Valentine's day?"

Driver's face flickers through surprise and guilt before she burst out laughing. "That's how they got you too?"

Casey nods, solemnly. "Well, that and a box of wine."

One final breath and he dives. She gets one glimpse of a tail as long as she is before it sinks beneath the surface. They've driven onto Lakeshore Drive, lights battened down by the woods and the ice. In the dark, with only cars in the distance rushing like waves, it's easy to plunge into the fathomless unknown with him, exhilarating in the fall.

(Somewhere above the surface of the water, Driver is saying, "You had Professor Cameron too? Did he start every lecture with--"

"I see at least three of you had the decency to show," says Casey, voice mockingly deep, "I was in a very important meeting with--"

Driver bursts out laughing. "Sure, for forty minutes every--")

Car's treads slip on gravel instead of salt water, breaking the spell. They all blink back to reality.

Casey clears her throat. "Well, fifteen minutes?"

"Fifteen minutes," agrees Driver.

A cloud scuttles across the stars. She tries to imagine it as a squid passing through a school of deep-sea fish. Every breath is too precious to waste on speaking. She doesn't ask if her friend is there, but in her imagination he is, thirty feet of pure power, a dolphin but not, the King of the Deep.

A square of orange light appears at the doorway, followed by another. She ignores the couples filtering out two by two, nothing more than passing dragonfish to her slitted headlights. Snowflakes flutter from the sky, muffling the outside world even further.

Finally, the lights turn out. The sign in the doorway flips over. Two figures stand under the dark awning, joined as one. Their breath rises in little puffs like bubbles.

Even on the swim back, the spell of the sea remains. Car sees them sneaking glances under the glow of passing streetlight, until they reach their starting point, where someone will have to break the surface of the water.

Driver opens her mouth, but it's Casey who says, "Hey, you wanna come up?"

* * *

"Uh huh, uh huh," says Driver, topping Car off with more windshield washer fluid.

The cool liquid washes off the last of the sticky antifreeze. If only she could say the same about the equally stick pollen coating her roof.

Driver groans. "Hey," she says brightly, "Guess what I got on my final?"

 _Good driving_ , says Aura, as one car says to another before a trip. _Where will you go?_

 _Oh, everywhere, I hear_ , says Car, _You?_

The screen door slams. Dave waves at Driver, who says, "Hold that thought."

She hugs Dave one-handedly. "Go get 'em, tiger," she says, as one driver says to another.

He says, "It's just an internship, but thanks. You too."

Driver waves as he starts up Aura's engine, and then she says, "You know, most people would be glad to have an honor student for a kid." She kicks at a pebble of asphalt and grins into the collar of her shirt. "Yeah, well. I should get going."

Aura rolls down the driveway when Driver turns on Car's engine, and a handsome beast chases after her. Almost twice as long as Aura, with legs that look like they like to run. Car imagines what it feels like to run with something that joyous. It warms her engine.

"Yeah, she's heading home first, but she'll come visit for about a week."

Driver leans a heavy duffel against Car, popping open her trunk. The pretty dinosaur prances back up the driveway.

 _Should you be with your car?_ says Car.

 _You're my car,_ she says, tossing her duck-billed head, _Hurry, hurry, or we'll miss out on the chase!_

"Ugh. Pretty sure that's against the Geneva conventions," says Driver, "Geez, you'd think I'm eloping, not going on a road trip. Seriously, I'm going to be late picking her up."

 _Wait until I show you the highway,_ says Car.

Car doesn't know if it's her or Ducky, but their combined feet gallop over the asphalt, finally on the way to 271 Garfield Ave, where Casey waits for them with a silver suitcase perched on the curb.

"Took you long enough," she says grinning and Car tips them into an embrace.

The road changes from asphalt to concrete to asphalt again. She tries to pace herself, but Ducky burns herself out in the joy of the road. The next ghost isn't so fun.

Built like a tank, with a temper to boot, he plods along grumpily at her side as they grimly trudge up the increasingly steep incline.

 _My whole life, summed up,_ he tells her.

Driver sounds just as antsy. "Hey, are we there yet?"

Car feels unbalanced with her in the passenger seat. Casey, hands light on the steering wheel, says, "You'll know when we get there."

 _What I'd give just for a moment to rest my aching feet_. He waves his massive tail.

 _Almost there_ , says Car. _You'll see._

Car doesn't know what they're looking for either. The roads look like they've been literally carved into the mountainside, exposing the Earth's jagged past. The cars here are few and far between, picking their way through the curves just as carefully as Car.

Until they make the next turn and the mountainside just falls away.

 _Oh,_ says Driver in awe, or maybe Car's ancient guest.

The sky is a solid blue curtain, extending well beyond the horizon. The river is a pale ribbon, hundreds of feet below their feet. A flock of tiny white birds skim over its surface.

 _Yes,_ he says, nodding his armored head as he fades, _I do see now._

A shelf of coral takes his place, blooming amidst the riotous June flowers. _Thank you._

"Happy birthday," says Casey, grinning as Driver kisses her. It takes a minute for them to break apart. "Go grab the cooler," she continues, much more breathlessly, "There's a picnic spot ahead."

Casey dives for her suitcase the moment Driver is out of sight. A wind ruffles the flowers, or perhaps an invisible current fans through the coral. The valley shimmers, pink and blue.

Driver pops her head back in. "You coming?"

Casey thrust out a bundle of wrapping paper.

"Here," she says, waving the wrapping paper in the face of Driver's increasing confusion, "There's another present for you."

The coral don't really think in words, but Car can almost piece together their thoughts.

"Aww, geez," says Driver. "You didn't have to--seat covers. Huh."

Dappling sunlight, warm salt currents. In a way, they're much like the plankton, taking joy in just being.

Casey nods solemnly. "You see, my mom always taught me to use protection."

But they remember far longer, taking Car on a journey through their collective memories, thousand of years in the making.

Driver tilts her head in confusion.

"You know," says Casey, "In case you need some alone time with your car."

Five thousand years in the past, Car watches the first coral in the colony carefully taking root, fixing the first iteration of the pattern that would shape them all.

"You--!" says Driver, and dives back inside to kiss her quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun filling this prompt! The ghosts are, in order:
> 
> \- Archaeopteris halliana from the Marcellus Formation.  
> \- Baptornis from the Niobrara Formation  
> \- Zamia from the Thunder Horse oil field  
> \- Aetodactylus from the Eagle Ford Shale  
> \- Archelon from the Pierre Shale  
> \- Lampanyctus from the Monterey Formation  
> \- Shonisaurus from the Otuk Formation  
> \- Protohadros from the Woodbine Formation  
> \- Borealopelta nodosaur from the Clearwater Formation  
> \- Astacolus from the Tuwaiq Formation
> 
> Title from [Another Life](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53759/another-life) by Howard Moss.


End file.
